Dream Stick
by cheddarbiscuit
Summary: Space, big voids, and even bigger fortunes. These are the adventures of the Drug Baron Skoodge... And also the Tallets, but no one likes them. Meta-Morphine's Cannon.
1. Chapter 1

cheddarbiscuit Presents:

Dream Stick

Summary: Space, big voids, and even bigger fortunes. These are the adventures of the Drug Baron Skoodge... And also the Tallets, but no one likes them. Meta-Morphine's Cannon.

But first, some justification:

Skoodge, like GIR was misinterpreted by the Fandom. He is sometimes seen as a silly, short, fat guy. Laxidasical, incompetent, whatever. But Skoodge was the first to take over his planet — which was the HOME OF THE SLAUGHTERING RAT PEOPLE — He must be resourceful in some degree. But the Tallest looked past that and saw the short, fat, ugly little guy, not the badass underdog. And what did they do? They launched him out of a cannon. And he _survived. _He was proven to be nigh indestructible in _Hobo 13._

But the fact remains that the Tallests do not like Skoodge, so what would he have done, especially after the events of Invader Dib? He would become a Drug Baron. He might even start a Murder Inc. type business, because it requires statistical knowledge and a cutthroat personality, exactly like an Invader. But I digress.

I just *can't* get the image of him all twenties-gangster style out of my head.

* * *

Chapter one:

"SIR!"

"As you were." the short Irken said, replying to their salute with a casual flick of his wrist from his forehead to the air, more like he was wiping sweat from his temple than he was standing on any formalities. He walked past the much taller men, his small loafers squeaking softly against the metal floor on his way to his office. He had exchanged his steel-capped Invader's boots for expensive leather dress shoes a long time ago. His old, stained uniform had been shed in favor of a smart suit, with red pinstripes running up the length of his body, not horizontal like the cut of his uniform, giving him the illusion of height.

He had managed to give himself an extra two inches of illusion that way. He took himself, and his extra two inches, down the hallway to his office, which was spacious enough to fit many aliens comfortably, regardless of their size, but filled with subtle features that would aid much smaller races. Like his special chair, which was currently laying as close to the floor as it could. Skoodge climbed into it, and pressed a button on a control panel on his right armrest, which raised it up to be on level with his desk. It would be quite comical, if he was not a much feared boss.

There was a call coming in. Skoodge leaned back in his office chair and looked at the flashing button on his chairs control panel _Accept... Accept_ the painted Irken script read. He tapped the pen again the heel of his clawed hand, wondering who it might be. The only call he could possibly get today was a revenge call, from the underlings of the liquor ring he had just taken over, of course, why his secretary would have let _that _call reach the office was a mystery to him.

"Accept." he said after the ringing had gone on long enough. Whoever they were, they were persistent. He might as well talk to them.

The screen flickered with static for a moment, and another Irken face greeted him, red eyes, green skin, a white t-shirt that had been casually thrown on. Whoever they were, they were... tall for an Irken, with several cuts and bruises on their face. Skoodge felt like he should know who he was looking at. He really should.

Then he recognized the couch, and the painting. And the Roboparents in sleep mode in the background.

"Zim!" Skoodge sat up strait at once, "How have you been?"

He looked like he was terrified of calling a drug baron. Skoodge could have laughed. At _this_ stage in his career, he did not have to worry about bugged offices. More powerful drug dealers had not gotten his attention yet, because he had not offed one of them, and his routes did not pass through theirs. At least, not to _their_ knowledge. He was certain he would not be able to get Zim to understand it, so he did not try. He lowered the chair so he could get to floor level, and ran up to the huge screen.

Zim was a good friend. A trusted former roommate. He had earned that display of kindness and affection, and Skoodge did not mind one bit. However, once he had run up to the screen, he noticed that Zim took up a great deal more of it that unusual, so much that his body and face were blurred.

"We haven't spoken face to face like this in, what, four years? I see that Metamorphosis Drug worked!"

Zim knelt down, so that the image of his face was level with Skoodge's '_It did, Skoodge—'_

"You're a terrible mess, you don't need me to rough up the guy that did that, do you?"

_'No, don't trouble yourself. I'm fine. I have a question for you, Skoodge.'_

"Yes?"

'_Has something... gone wrong... on Irk?'_

Skoodge stepped back, he knew by the flash of concern in Zim's eyes that he had noticed the action and was not going to hang up until Skoodge had answered his questions. He swallowed his initial shock and stepped forward again, "It's something I've been told not to trouble you with, but yes, something _has_ gone wrong."

_'Is it Mothercontrol—'_

"Who told you?" Skoodge demanded, "No one was supposed to tell the exiles! I was told because I visit Tenn frequently, and she is the one that was assigned to monitor Mothercontrol, but you, keeping _you_ in the dark was considered top priority. Who told you?"

_'Tak.'_ The exiled Invader said, _'She is under the impression that Gaz had something to do with it.'_

"No one knows why it happened." Skoodge told him, "I don't know if Gaz had anything to do with it or not, really, my money's on Dib. He was the one that tried tampering with it in the first place. Gaz barely touched it."

'_But, something_ has_ happened to it? Tak's not going insane and she did not lie to me?_'

"No, Tak's telling the truth."

_'Skoodge, tell me everything you know.'_

"That _is_ all I know." The drug lord responded, "I'm sorry, Zim, but that's all I know. I had to give Tenn a little alcohol to get that out of her, so she was half drunk and that was _all _I managed to get. On top of that, I haven't been to Dirt in quite some time, so I have not been able to get any new updates."

_'So, she's on Dirt? Can I contact her?'_

"You can try." Skoodge answered, "She might not answer you, because you're..." He could not skirt the issue, "You're an exile, she's not supposed to have any contact with you."

They were both exiles. Zim more than Skoodge, but that was the reason he dropped in on Tenn in person, and avoided talking to her via transmission. She did not want to risk getting in to too much trouble with the Tallests, and neither did he, considering they had the power to turn him in to the galactic authorities, he was an exile, sure, but within a minute they could have his location, all they needed was a reason to do it.

And they _would_ do it at the drop of a hat. Skoodge knew they were that petty and spiteful. At least, they used to be. He was not interested in studying up on the issue and find out that it was still true, even if he was hoping that it was not. He was spared the cold reality that the Irken Empire was failing, because he was quickly founding an empire of his own. Not a political one. No, politics were too unstable and politicians and world leaders were out for fame _and_ money_. His_ empire — the only real stable empire _—_ was in the illegal. The black market. Races would submit to total control for only so long, but drugs? Liquor? Illegally obtained riches and robotics? Even the most respectable of people would just _die_ to get their hands on it. Order was temporary. Chaos was forever.

So the logical choice was to invest in chaos, apply his brilliant mind to that. Sell Vortian Opium, Death Sticks, and Saurian Brandy and take all the gold he could get his hands on.

'_Skoodge_?' Zim asked softly, '_What is it, Skoodge?_'

"N-nothing. Just thinking." The drug lord said, shaking his head, "Go, call Tenn. She might tell you everything she can."

'_Yes.'_

"But Zim, call back again, it's been a while."

_'Of course.'_

Then he was gone. Skoodge stared at the screen for a while and missed the simple Invader's life he had once had. Taking over a planet was child's play compared to the upkeep multiple smuggling routes required. He embraced the challenge more than he resented it, more often than not, of course, but sometimes, there was a little pang of loneliness and regret. Then he would fly over Irk and remember that it was falling into decay, and the feeling would disappear just as quickly as it started.

He poured himself a glass of Saurian Brandy, [1.] it was taken from a brewing operation he had just acquired, he had let his men take liberties with sampling the wares and from the state of the ship's break room, it was well worth the trouble it had taken to take the operation over. Besides, they were a _vertically_ integrated distiller, which saved him the unnecessary trouble of finding the supplies needed to brew Saurian Brandy.

Which was good, because he had absolutely no clue what those supplies were.

He grinned a little as he took the glass away from his lips, "Yes." he said to himself, "Well worth it."

They were en route to Dirt at that point in time, so Skoodge put the other, unopened bottle away. He always made a point of beaming down to talk to Tenn whenever he passed Dirt, this time, he would have something worthwhile to give her. Perhaps he could even get more information out of her, if the liquor was strong enough.

He went back to his desk and sat down, straightening his suit.

He had taken a slight liking to two- and three- piece suits on Earth for their debonair quality and suave nature, just as Zim had taken a liking to ties and sweater vests for their ability to be made in bright colors and patterns while still appearing intelligent and dependable. He leaned back in his chair, wondering what else he could butter up Tenn with for information, but it disintegrated into brooding.

What had really happened with Mothercontrol? Had it been Gaz? If so, she was in danger and Skoodge knew how much Zim fancied her, so he knew _Zim_ would soon be in danger as well, as well as her brother and her father, if she had one still. He wondered if he should do something about it, but knew that Earth was too far right now. He would check in later, when he could.

There was a knock on his door.

So many things happened at _once_ today!

"Enter."

It was was a lanky man, a former planet jacker, but he was out of his uniform now and into one of the suits Skoodge demanded his men wear. In general his men wore black pins stripes, and so Skoodge could not quite recall why this man wore a _navy_ suit, aside from the fact that he enjoyed looking out of place.

"Sir, there's an unidentified hear to see you."

"Unidentified?" Skoodge echoed. That meant that his race could not be identified at all. Skoodge considered _not_ meeting him for a moment, "What does he want?"

"He says he only want to discuss that with you."

"Does he have anyone with him?"

"A... A juvenile. Probably his offspring."

Skoodge got down from his chair and followed him down the hall with quick, professional steps. The base was and located slam in the middle of a cess pool on Xeuanei. Skoodge was not ashamed to admit that every innocent citizen there had quickly turned to work for him, there were very few so he had started off small at first, but soon the entire west half of the town was paying him dues, and his space crew consisted of rag-tag castoffs from other planets, including one or two Irkens, he believed, that had been banished for whatever reason.

His interior designer seemed to want to make everything sleek and modern, throwing in warm dashes of color everywhere. Skoodge did not like it. It made the place a little too inviting. He wanted something to show how brutal he could be, as well a generous.

He was not meeting this unidentified in his office for security reasons. Yes, he had been checked completely for weapons before he had come in, but Skoodge knew taking away everyone's means to fight back and then dragging them down at hallway to meet with a stranger they probably did not trust for the first time was _not_ something a good host would do. At all.

So he came to meet them, after slipping a bullet proof vest on under his jacket.

The sitting room was a professional, but unintimidating place, very monochrome, with blue accents dotting the white walls and pale blue furniture. Skoodge surveyed the unidentified and his presumed offspring for a few seconds. The smaller one looked quite at home. He was sitting down on the couch, slouched in his seat, his hands shoved into his pocket. The older one, by contrast, was still standing and he looked worried. Extremely worried.

They were humans. Skoodge could tell by the scent. The younger one had a bar piercing in his ear. It was missing a data bead, but it was probably a silent sign that he _had_ been a slave.

"Name and business?"

"A-aaron Dwicky." he said haltingly. "I need a loan."

He was a tall man, with dark hair and clear blue eyes, unlike his younger companion, who was riddled with piercings; his skin was free of holes or of tattoos. Skoodge looked at the table that normally kept the weapons taken from visitors safe until they left. There were two rows, one for the adult and one for the child. Someone had a human Swiss army knife and a Plookesian super weapon; someone had a clumsy and almost harmless plasma blaster.

So, his distress was not that he had been separated by any _real_ security. He hardly had any to begin with. No. He was obviously worried about something else. Probably the loan.

"How much do you need?"

"I-I don't know." he said, "There are eleven others like Tommy, here. Human babies that were taken off planet and sold into slavery. I-I want to find them and take them home."

"You need enough money to travel across the universe? No, look at you, you already have that. You need the money to _buy_ them, don't you?"

"I've considered the situation, and I have decided that taking money from a criminal is better than..." he stopped and considered what he was saying, then he continued, "Better than becoming one myself. Tommy was bought with everything I could afford to let go, and even _then_ his former master could demand more from me down the line I—"

"Don't be paranoid." Skoodge said, "It would be cheaper to buy another one on Conventia than fly out here. Trust me. Now, I will confess that the money required to purchase _eleven slaves_ is quite a big order to fill."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'll pay you back, whatever interest you want."

"Don't be sorry, just listen. How efficient is you ship?"

"It's an old Plookesian model, sir. Not the best in the world, but—"

"Give it to me—"

"What?"

Skoodge sighed in frustration, "_Listen_. Give the ship to me. If it really is not the best in the world, then eventually it _will_ give out on you, stranding you. If people are not actively searching for you, they won't find you. Ever. Give the ship to me, I will use it for in-system runs, that is what it is meant for. In return I will give you a surplus Irken transport vessel. Now I know everyone says I am biased, but _Vort_ does make better equipment. Still no one does efficiency like the Irkens. You won't need to buy fuel, Just food and water. If something goes wrong, it will not be the ship."

"T-thank you, sir."

"Now, about the money. I will need to call my appraiser in, is that all right?"

"Yes. Yes that's fine."

Skoodge did as he had said and they waited in silence for the appraiser to come into the room was a skinny young woman from Neimoidia. She came in quickly enough, with a calculator and an electronic writing pad. Skoodge watched Mr. Dwicky's eyes quickly roam over her. He wasn't too impressed (he was not the first). She did not notice. She just stared at her pen touch-screen and asked, "What do you need, sir?"

"Approximate cost for eleven human slaves."

"Male and female?"

She had the most grating voice he had ever heard. It was like the squeak of an old rusted door hinge. It was piercing to the ears and dull to the mind. And she was not repulsive, not in the least, but she was not exactly the best looking accountant in the world, either (but Skoodge never hired for looks, he hired for connections, and her father was fairly high up in the Trade Federation.) With her blue, fish-like scales and her black bulging eyes, she had a sort of aquatic mystique wither her where ever she went, but the grating voice took it away at once and she had a bit of a slouch.

She was probably quite pretty, for a Neimoidian, though.

"Five male and six female." the boy, Tommy answered, sitting up, "All my age, which is fairly young, about fourteen, I believe. I know _one_ girl was sold ahead of me on Conventia. She went for a really high price in the auction. I was bought afterwards, with the rest of the rejects and trouble makers on the cheap."

"I see. Where was she sold to?"

"I dunno." Tommy replied, "I'm sorry, ma'am, but all I know is that he was rich. He won't let her go for nothing!"

He was very shaken up about that. Aaron sat down beside him and lightly touched him on the shoulder, and Tommy covered his hands with his eyes. The boy did not cry. Skoodge knew it was nearly impossible for most slaves to cry once they reached so many years of service. He wanted to ask how long he had been a slave, but he knew that was rude.

So instead, while the appraiser was appraising, Skoodge offered, "I think we have a directory. It's very recently updated. I'll just go fetch it. It is in my office."

He quickly walked the route to his office, and wasted several minutes searching for the directory. He could not even remember why he had it. He had not been planning on buying any slaves. What it because he had planned on freeing a few, but then could not decide which few and gave up, because it would not be fair?

Yes, that was probably it.

Or, had he been looking for someone specific?

He scanned through it, trying to find any markers or annotations he had made in the programming. It was a slender thing, about the size of a small laptop, but about half an inch thick when it was folded. It was simply one big data base, and there were a million categories to search with vocal as well as manually entered commands. He eventually found it in one of the cabinets. He would get no use out of it, he might as well hand it to them.

When he headed back to the sitting room, his appraiser stopped him.

"You can't afford it." She said bluntly, and with a tone of 'you're stupid to think you can.'

"What?"

"Even if they were all bought at their _cheapest_ prices, you could not afford it. The only race_ more_ expensive for females is Camrane, it seems, and I heard from _Tommy_ that the males are considered quite entertaining in the gladiator's ring for their poor strength but determined spirit. I've talked to your accountant, and he says you can afford to give away the money for _six_ of the eleven right now. I can write the check, he can come back in a year and collect the other one."

"Fine." Skoodge answered, "Write the check. I don't want to know how much it is."

"Yes sir."

They reentered together, and Skoodge handed the directory to Tommy, while the appraiser wrote out the check and handed it to Dwicky. Skoodge wrote out a note to his man at the docking bay detailing the switch of the vehicles and knew that he was doing this at a loss to himself. But he did not mind, really. It was just one more way to make a name for himself, one more way to endear himself to the masses. He freed fucking slaves, not personally, but he did.

He was well on his way to becoming a religious figure or a saint or something.

Well, okay, not really, but he would probably become the most adored person to ever sit for a mug shot, and the most sympathized man on a wanted poster. Eventually. But not today, obviously.

"H-how much interest will I owe you?"

He did not seem too eager to learn that answer. Skoodge could see the dread in his eyes. His hands had begun to shake, as if the very thought of debt made him sick to his stomach. He could tell it was not an act, so he sympathized with him. But, perhaps it was an act. "Don't be so keen to put yourself into debt. I know it's a custom on earth—"

His appraiser was glaring at him. Skoodge could feel her eyes stabbing into him and for once he was honestly intimidated. And he was Skoodge! He was never intimidated!

"Ah, perhaps only about a percent... That, that's still a hefty sum, I hope you know."

It was not an answer that had pleased his appraiser. Not in the slightest. It did not seem to please Aaron, either. He was running the calculations in his head, so he now knew how huge of a debt he had just racked up. He looked at the check in his hand like it was something dreadfully evil but totally vital, so maybe he was not sure what on percent of 'Oh god look at all those zeros' was, but he was probably thinking how much it might be and how Skoodge would skin him alive.

"Y-yes. I understand. I'll do my best."

"You should open a bank account." Skoodge offered, "They could help you pay it off, and anyway, carrying that much cash, or even a check for that much is silly. You won't find a respectable bank _here_ though, I can tell you that right now."

The human laughed awkwardly, then tucked the check away in a wallet that was probably one of the few things he had left from Earth. He looked at Tommy who was still looking through the directory, to all of the slaves cross-referenced by 'bipedal' and 'unidentified origin.' He looked upset by the number of strange names and faced he would have to comb through, but true to expectation, he did not shed a tear. Aaron took his arm and guided him out.

Skoodge smiled to himself watching them walk away, the guard walking along with them, carrying their weapons for them. They would be returned after they were out of the hideout. Without a word his appraiser left the sitting room to go back to her office, muttering to herself that members that fell into the category 'unidentified' were not worth the trouble.

Skoodge considered clearing his throat and muttering himself that not even she was worth the trouble she caused sometimes, but he did not bother. It would not be worth the trouble it caused. If there was one place he could not make enemies, it was in his own treasury! She and his accountant could band together and ruin him completely, just as effectively as his own underlings.

Chaos was forever, after all. Chaos always lasted forever.

First, it had been the republic, then that had fallen and the planets had gone to hell in a handbasket with the Sith, then it was the republic again and after that it was the Trade Federation, but someday soon it would be this up-and-coming proposal of 'A new Federation.' It was about as up-and-coming as Skoodge himself was. It would be a nice though, that he should reach the height of his power along with that new Federation. He could travel in its wake, and in the new order of destruction he could sow the seeds of a new chaos.

The bright center of the universe was rusting and decayed. You could only build up so far, eventually, you'd be floating too high in the atmosphere to breathe, while the slums sullied the air below you. And that was where he'd be. There was no power in ceremony and opulence. You sold what the masses needed you'd be around. You'd be put up with. You sold what the masses _wanted_? Oh, you'd be set for life. What, aside from a shared ancestry did Vulcan and Romulus have in common?

They both got their dope from the same sales man, and he had at least five sweethearts on ten other planets. The only reason Earth was not there was because it was too far away.

But times were changing. That bright center of the universe? It was moving closer to Earth, closer to Irk, even. These little squabbles that had been 'beyond the outer rim' were getting nearer and nearer to this new center of regulation. The Camrane had not gone very far from their original home on Europa, after all, but they had adapted to the warmer climate and they were like a little inter-stellar prima donna. If they could, they'd move to the fast-moving stars of the _real_ center of the universe, but gravity was far too high there. Only the strangest survived there.

Of course, Skoodge had employed the strangest before, they were quite capable of surviving anywhere, even at the bright political center of the universe, or, in this case, the dark crime center of the universe. Xeuanei was almost like the dark side of a moon compared to any thriving economic center. Xeuanei was thriving, too, of course, it was just that it was a very dark place. Oh, it was well lit, certainly. If Skoodge were to look out his window (as he was doing now) he would see bright blue sky and many acceptable houses. It was not a perpetually raining, sprawling slum, there were even a few nice country homes, and countless urban centers. Yes, there were a few slums but that was just to be expected.

Point was, it was not the dark, depressing place one would expect for a crime capital. It was actually quite nice and cheerful from time to time. The locals were nice, cheerful folk, some distant relatives of Vortians, which was strange, because the two planets were nowhere near each other, but they shared similar customs and language elements, in addition to similar DNA structure and appearance.

He poured himself another glass of brandy and reclined in his chair, wondering if Zim would call him back, and if he had managed to reach Tenn or even the tallests. He wondered about Aaron and if he would even survive to make it back in a year, or even if he would ever pay the money back he had borrowed. Skoodge doubted it, and really, if he _lived_ through the ordeal he was sure to face, Skoodge would be impressed, and would probably not require he pay him back.

Of course, being paid back would be _nice_ but he had given the loan knowing he would probably take it at a loss.

* * *

[1.] Fun fact about that. When I was watching Star Trek, the first time Saurian Brandy is mentioned, the line has Kirk storming into sick bay, leaning against the door and exclaiming, "_Saurian Brandy!_" Somewhere between the speakers and my ear, it became, "_Sorry I'm brandy_."

- Yes, "_Sorry I'm brandy_." Don't ask me what's wrong with my ears, I don't know.

Yes. Yes I did just make Invader Zim a prequel to Star Trek. (*cough* which I know nothing about *cough*)

You're welcome.

Note: I can't think of a good place to add this: 'Dream Stick' (at least, I hope this is right) is slang for opium, too keep you from asking.


	2. Chapter 2

Dream Stick

(Disclaimed.)

* * *

Chapter two:

Six human years. Red watched Purple fade in and out of apathy. Of course, he had always been apathetic. Cold. Uncaring. Incompetent. But this was different. This was less uncaring and more lethargy and depression. He had always been useless and bothersome. This just make it worse. This just made it unbearable.

Red crossed his bionic arms and frowned. He could not figure out why he felt so _bad_ about it. He had never hated Purple. They were practically brothers. Purple had _annoyed_ him, sure. But that was what brothers were _supposed_ to do. Now Purple just annoyed him in a not-brother kind of way. He just flat out aggravated him. And worried him. And made him curse at the stars when he was alone because it was just so _stupid_ how emotions could make an aloof, uncaring, respectable Irken fold up.

"You want nachos?" he asked.

"... I don't... I don't think so." Purple said. He was laying on his side in his private chambers in the palace on Irk, overlooking the perpetually grounded Massive, "I'm not hungry."

Red heaved a frustrated sigh and his antennae flickered erratically in annoyance. He hovered back and forth in a line. Hover-pacing. Pacing. Hovering. He watched Purple lazily and sadly lying on the couch. He was only about two and a half feet tall. Tall by an Irken's standards, of course. Tall enough to be considered a tallest. Red was the same height.

That was the result of a rare, happy mishap. The Breeding Calculator had accidentally used Tallest's Miyuki's DNA twice, resulting in two smeets. They were practically twins.

And now, the malfunction in Mothercontrol was actually making him _care_ about his almost-twin.

"Could you at least put on your cybernetic suit and make an appearance?" Red asked, floating over to the headless purple-and-white body, "People are starting to talk."

"Let them talk." he said, waving Red away, "You go. I will only be a burden."

"Purple—"

"Everyone knows you're the better leader." he said. It was not spiteful. It was not a complaint. It was a statement of resignation. Purple was an idiot, and he knew it.

Red raised his eyes to the stars and whispered to himself, "Mothercontrol, give me an answer!"

But he received none. She never spoke her will anymore. No one knew why. No one really cared. They were all too busy folding up to care. Red floated in front of Purple and said with as much authority he could muster, "Stop lying around like a spoiled smeet, man! Get off your lazy green ass and get some sun!"

"Don't shout at me!"

Defeated, Red felt himself collapse a little, "Sorry."

"It's not your fault." Purple sighed, "Things have been going wrong for six years. I wonder what caused it."

"I don't know."

"Zim came back six years ago."

"That's true, he did."

"Maybe he did something on purpose because we were never very nice to him."

"Don't say things like that, Purple." Red told him, sitting down on the couch, "Its not something Zim did."

"What about that big-headed boy?"

"The Meekrob's ally?"

Purple nodded, curling up a bit, "He's never liked our kind."

"He's a human. The do not like much."

It was quiet again. Tense. Until Red tried again, "Come down to the audience chamber with me. It's not the same without you."

"For you to bully and laugh at." He turned his purple eyes to him, "I know Red."

"Purple!"

"I said don't shout."

Again, silence. A little bit of sun light fell on Purple's skin and he felt rejuvenated. But not enough to stand up. Not enough to go down to the audience chamber and hear about how their economy was failing and their morale was slipping and how much money they had to pay to 'make amends' to the rest of the universe. Purple looked away to the Massive, and he was at a loss. The terrible thing about it, though, was that _Red_ was at a loss, too. And _Red_ was never supposed to be at a loss. It was a mistake that they were the same height. Red was supposed to be taller. Purple knew it. And he was alright with it.

He just wished he had never been made. Or that he had more spirit to his convictions and force behind his commands. Or that he was just _better_.

Red heaved a sigh, "Come on, Purple. Get up."

"I don't want to."

"I did not want to either." Red said with his lips tight and his face held stiffly, "This morning I contemplated running away. I considered unplugging myself. But I realized that we are needed more now than we were ever before."

"Why? We are just figure heads. You said so yourself."

"What else are figureheads for?" Red informed him, standing up and floating towards the grounded Massive, "What is a flagship but a figure head for the armada? Call me what you will, but we are a symbol our people _need_ to see right now."

Purple sat up and sighed, the weight of the world just as heavy as the weight of Red's short speech. He was convinced enough now to at least get up. Red was right. He needed sun. "Toss me a packet of cleansing chalk."

Red picked one up in his bionic claws and tossed it too him. After cleaning himself up, he climbed into his suit and let it hook itself up. With a sigh in enduring resignation, he turned to Red, "Okay. I'll go."

But as he hovered through the hallways beside his half-brother, Purple's motivation waned. They were falling into ruin, the grounds were overgrown and dying at the same time, things were covered in a thin layer of dust before they were cleaned, because they had cut back on staff. If he knew what could help, he would gladly do it, but the only solution was near-slavery to the other races. The role of the Irken had fallen now. Gone were the days of Invaders. Gone were the days of respectful fear of their race. Gone was the power they held over the stars. If someone was treated well, even in their meager job, it was considered honorable.

There was a transmission from Dirt when they arrived in the audience chamber.

_My Tallests! Invader Tenn reporting in._ The red-eyed alien saluted.

"What news?"

_Mothercontrol's malfunction has caused a hole in the computer security system. I found several files in an electronic database of books that you might find of some use._

"Books?" Red asked, "When have we used books?"

Purple shrugged. He was no historian.

Invader Tenn's eyes shifted, _Before the PAKs, sirs._

"But we've always had PAKs."

_Not... not so, My Tallests._ She contradicted softly;_ apparently, there was a time, many years ago. But I cannot give you an exact date. The categorizing of time was different when these volumes were created. I am sending them to you, now._

"You were instructed to monitor the computer, Tenn." Red told her. He was not expressly angry. Just miffed. There was no point in punishing her, "Not read books."

_I have been doing as I was told._ She aruged back,_ So far as I can tell, it has stopped giving messages to the PAKs, but also..._

She trailed off.

"Also?" Purple demanded, "What do you mean?"

"Anything can provide is a clue, soldier."

_The production of Smeets has slowed._ She informed them, _In a linear pattern. There is no need to panic, this is why the records I sent you are so important, my Tallest._

"What do you mean?"

_Well, if Mothercontrol did shut down completely, we need to look into the possibility of going back to reproducing... Sexually._

Even the underlings were appalled. Tenn's face darkened and she shuddered, as if no one was more offended than she was, _I thought at first that we could dig up the password and at least reprogram the Breeding Calculator. I soon realized, however, that would be nearly impossible. The computer's defenses are too great. I had a new idea. I searched the genetic codes of all living Irkens to see if any still had some... vestigial reproductive organs._

"And?"

_I found one._

"Five hundred monnies says its Zim." Red hissed.

It would be Zim. He felt like a million people somewhere were secretly celebrating. Or perhaps it was just forty. Forty random people sticking their noses into his life. And one sick _freak_ writing it all down for their amusement. He facepalmed with genuine spirit. It would be Zim. Miyuki strike him down from the spirit world, and the neglecting souls of Tallests past be praised and damned. It _would_ be Zim.

"Five hundred monnies says it's _her_." Purple responded. He felt like his old playful self again, suddenly. And they snickered behind they hands, glad for even this little joke. But he felt bad once they looked back to her and saw she was genuinely offended. It was not right to find joy in another's pain.

Tenn frowned and put her hands on her hips, _respectfully, ten thousand monnies says it is _TAK_, My Tallests._

"Who... who is Tak?"

"Didn't we banish her to Dirt?"

Invader Tenn cleared her throat, _Tak, sirs? You gave her a job as a delivery driver? Her most recent mission was on Earth, giving a radiator to Zim. However, her ship stopped releasing its homing signal a while ago. She must be contacted and informed of her condition, at least. I... _she looked away, off screen, as if her memories were located there, as if she could see Tak._ I am worried about her. We went to tactical training together, and— and I hate for our last hope and my best friend..._

Rather than have her trek down memory lane, Red asked, "And if she's dead?"

Invader Tenn was suddenly business-like again, but her fear and sadness remained, _I will think of something else. I might find Mothercontrol's password. I might be able to change this. The question is, though, do we want it changed?_

"Do we?" Purple asked. He turned to Red, who was just as clueless as he was.

"Continue your work, soldier." he said, hoping he sounded more convincing than he felt. Tenn gave them a sad little salute, and the transmission ended.

"What do we do about Tak?"

_Call Zim. _Red shuddered. He did not want to call Zim, but if something had happened to Tak or her ship, they had no way to contact her, and Zim would know. At least, Zim would check up on her for them if he had not seen her. He would look. It was something they could do.

He sighed and ran a fake hand over his head. His insides twisting and jumping. _Tallest past! _He did _not_ want to call the defect! "Open a communication's chanel to Earth and see if you can reach Zim."

"Sir?"

"I'm not happy about it either." he said, turning around, "Just _do it_ soldier."

"Y-yes sir."

Red turned back to the screen and pulled Purple up, "Look confident." he whispered, "Nothing is wrong. We just want to know what happened to Tak. If she was killed, she obviously never got a chance to tell him what was wrong."

"What if she did?"

"She is, or was, delusional." Red said, "They have a history. If anything, tell him it was a trap to get him killed."

"But that's a lie!" Purple hissed.

"Better lie to him than have him in our antennae."

Purple frowned. Red was right. _Zim_ was the last thing Irk needed at the moment. They looked towards the fuzzy screen, as one mind for once in a long time. They took a calming breath, fixed their faces in apathy. This was too important for Purple to mess up. This was almost the hardest test of their leadership to date. If they could keep their strong face in the presence of Zim, perhaps they could pull Irk back from the brink.

"Communication lines open sir."

"Call 'em."

At first, they saw the Zim they were familiar with. A pair of eagerly-lit red eyes close to the screen, flickering antennae. But then he noticed they were on the other screen and he jumped back, his eyes aglow with respect and concern. A bolt of fear when through Red. Purple saw his sharp black tie first, the pink collared shirt. Red saw the height. He was over five feet. Five and a half, at _least_. He was tall enough to oppose their power. And Red could tell it was natural. No cybernetic attachments. No artificial suit.

"Zim?"

"Why are you so tall?"

The Tall Defect's face glowed; _I was just about to contact you, my Tallests_!

"Where is Tak?"

"And what happened to your face?" Purple was of course referring to the gash that Dib's class ring had given him some time ago.

_A mere scratch!_ He exclaimed, _What is it that you need, my Tallests?_

"We need to know where Tak is, Zim." Red repeated, trying to keep the envy, fear and anger out of his voice. He tried to keep it calm, but he could feel Purple's resolve flickering.

_Tak is... Tak is here, on Earth._ His eyes averted. He was hiding something. Or he was desperate to ask about something. Perhaps both. Purple could see it.

"Have you noticed anything... unusual?" he asked, feigning nonchalance.

_Well, yes, sirs, but they are all normal effects of the formula I took to make myself taller._

"Why?" Purple asked.

But they both knew why. Zim was an exile. He needed to fit in. Fortunately, Zim ignored the question.

"What side effects?" Red said. He was more direct in his approach.

Zim opened his mouth to speak, but shook his head and reconsidered, _My Tallests, has anything happened to Mothercontrol? Tak seems to be under the impression that someone... tampered with it._

"No, Zim." Red replied calmly, folding his fingers and hoping the ruin could not show in the room around them. If Zim returned, it would mean trouble. He was nothing but trouble. Both of them knew it. Even if things could not get much worse, with _Zim,_ they could defiantly not get better.

_But My Tallest, Tak is no liar. Disturbed and desperate, maybe. I know there is still some merit to her words. Something has gone wrong with Mothercon—_

"No, Zim." the callous, rough voice of Red cut him off, but anyone could easily see he was lying, "Nothing is wrong."

Zim grew angry, _My Tallest! Please, do not be blind! I am no fool! I have contacted Skoodge, and what he tells me agrees with Tak's accusations._

"Well, we don't want you here!" Purple told him. Blunt. Upfront. Stupid.

Red growled in annoyance. Not Zim. He did not want Zim on his plate right now.

Zim stepped forward, _I am aware of my status as a defect and as an excite. Even when condemned to this rock, my loyalty to Irk remained. I am a faithful servant, even though I remain on this isolated outpost. My homeland is in trouble, my Tallest, and even a defect, I am still a member of your army and recognized amung our scientists!_

"For killing Tallests Miyuki and Spork!" Tallest Red's voice rose angrily.

"You're nothing but trouble, Zim!" Purple warned, but his tone softened at once, "We're... We're sorry you're stuck there, but we really would rather keep it that way."

_Sorry?_ Zim asked, stepping again, this time backwards. _Sorry, my Tallest?_

The Tallest were never supposed to be sorry. They put up a front for outsiders. They had tried to put up that front for Zim, too. To keep him on Earth. To keep him out of their antennae. Even Zim had made them cave in to their newfound sympathy and guilt. Pathetic. Predictable. Stupid.

Red sighed, "Zim, you're a nice guy. You've got spunk, but you can serve your Empire better where you are."

"You don't know a thing about Mothercontrol, anyway."

Red glared at him, and Purple felt bad instantly. He had to open his big mouth! He was so dense.

_So something is wrong?_ The exiled Invader exclaimed. He ran up up to the screen, _My Tallest, please, do not force me to sit idle! Send me a ship and I will do my best to—_

"No!" Red said sternly, "You'll make things worse."

_My Tallest—!_

Purple signaled for the transmission to be cut. And it was silent, except for a little static. Red turned to him, his hands on his hips and his eyes narrowing, "Way to go."

"He can't get back here." Purple said plainly, "Otherwise, he would have done it quite some time ago."

"Zim is smart. He'll fix Tak's ship if it was damaged. He'll bring it here and he'll raise hell."

For a moment, he was genuinely angry. Purple slouched and stared down at his fake feet, his eyes watering for a moment, "I'm sorry."

Red sighed. Gradually, the anger died and he sat down beside him on the old Vortian couch. "I know you're sorry."

And he had is fair share of regrets. He was sorry Zim was a defect. He was sorry Tenn's new job was lonely and dull, watching and monitoring an old computer on a planet with violent dust storms without a single friend. He was sorry their people lived in a planet that was simply one giant slum. He was sorry someone so foolish and incompetent as _Purple_ had to be a strong leader for it all.

He was sorry he had not known Tallest Miyuki's intentions, and instead of thinking, started Operation Doom I. He was sorry their livelihood depended on the wellbeing of a computer.

He was sorry he had no real power.

"What do we do?" Purple asked, "If Zim _does_ get back?"

"He knows what we'll do!" Red found himself shouting, but he was not really mad, nor was he determined to carry out his threats, "We'll kill him."

"We can't." Purple muttered, "He's taller than we are... the old laws state—"

"I don't have you around to tell me the old laws!" Red roared, waving his hand angrily, "I don't have you around to..."

"Don't shout." Purple muttered, looking down, "I know I'm not as good as you are. I just feel bad about killing him."

"He's a defect. The new law states—"

"Everyone's defective, now days." Purple grumbled, "By the new law, we should all be killed."

"Well—"

"But if we did that, the planet would be filled with graves, Red. And you know we would be the last. I can't bury our people, Red. I just can't! It's not _right_, Red."

Red let his anger die again. Purple was right. Morally, Purple was always right. He sighed and sat down again. He tried to imagine it, a planet filled with mass graves, because they were all defective now. Something had gone wrong. It was terrible. He saw himself and his twin, sitting back to back among the headstones. Tired, shovels crossed in the ground beside them. And everyone was dead in graves only marked by their disconnected PAKS. The elders. The Smeets. The Controlbrains. The former Invaders.

And with the last of his strength, he would jerk out his own PAK and throw it far away, and wait with Purple for death to claim them.

_Five hundred monnies says I go first._ He would say, and Purple would wipe a tear from his eye.

_Five hundred monnies says you're right._

Or maybe it would be the largest mass suicide in the history of the universe. They would raise the endless city, peel away the metal that kept the soil of their beloved, dying planet from their feet, and each one would dig their own grave. The smeeteries would be disconnected, and all over the planet, everyone would tear off their life — their hideous robotic essence — and lay down, each in their own grave, spending their last moments freed from the shekels of science. And they would sleep for all eternity. Rotting. Unburied. An eternal, gruesome warning against foolish conquest and greed. [1.]

"Let's change the law!" Purple suddenly exclaimed.

Red raised a brow and one of his antennae fell, "What?"

"Let's change it!" he repeated, getting to his feet, suddenly inspired, "Let's engineer Smeets on our own, without the Breeding Calculator. Let's make them stronger, so they won't need PAKs anymore, and let's bring Zim back, and he can make us all taller."

"Why?" Red asked

"So we can do more." Purple answered, "You know we're helpless with out the PAKs. We're so small on our own. If we were all taller, like the rest of the universe, we could..."

"Do what?" Red hissed, "Take everything over again?"

"No." Purple laughed. Genuinely inspired, "No, we can do more. We can get better jobs. We can get respect and bring wealth back to Irk again. We have to put our people to work. The money is there, Red, its just frozen. We have to find were its gotten—"

"Credit." Red could have slapped him. Partly because for a second before everything crashed down on that one word, he had believed him. He had soared with the thought that Irk could once again prosper, "Credit, Purple. And credit is not like money. It vanishes. It is based entirely on trust, and who trusts an Irken?"

"Then we build up our trust again."

Red repeated, coldly, "Who trusts an Irken?"

"_I _do." Purple hung his head and whispered.

Red scoffed and turned, "I'm sorry, Purple. I just don't think it will work."

His confidence faded again, like a candle suddenly snuffed out. And Red felt terrible for it. His job now was to give people hope. Why did he have to take it away from his brother? He turned back and laid his hands on Purple's shoulders, "I'm sorry. I did not mean to snap, I—"

"I understand."

"We'll figure it out." Red told him, trying to sound as confident as he felt, "We'll change the laws. We'll do whatever we can think of."

They would not be figureheads anymore.

* * *

_[1.] Oh my god, I made myself cry!_


End file.
